It is what it is. After the incident in the Cossack Ambush, I gave orders to the golems not to attack humans. I don't want any internal squabbles or conflict with any batch of escaped earthlings. The sight of metal soldiers with sharp weapons was enough for the humans to refrain from attacking.
- Then I'm off.
- Alex," - the man held me by the elbow, - "don't cut it off in the heat of the moment, if anything happens... you never know, we should sort it out... and ask them about it. When else are we going to meet natives.
- So I'll settle it, - I gloomily promised.
- Alex, don't be silly!
- It'll be alright," - I took the Wasp out of my pocket and showed it to the re-enactor. - I'll try to cope with this.
The door to the room where they put the unknown, samurai carried out with one easy kick of the foot. And what about the door, an ordinary glued flat box of thin slats and chipboard, covered with laminated wood film. It can be easily lifted by a five-year-old child, if it doesn't have a box.
The door fell to pieces, revealing a small barricade made right behind it from the beds. Seconds later, a crackling hole formed in the right wall, revealing the figure of the Tin Man, and Chappy stood beside him, tearing apart the remains of the wall. The partitions between the chambers consisted of thin bars, on which sheets of thin plywood, plasterboard or OSB were nailed, and the opening was filled with three-inch foam or mineral wool (some partitions were even a single sheet in order to save material). So it wouldn't be difficult for the golems to walk through the hospital from wall to wall without using doors.
As soon as the golems were in the room, a branching lightning bolt struck the Lumberjack, playing over his torso with a multitude of electric-welding-like sparks. A few seconds of magic and I felt the Tin Man disappear.
At the same time as the combat spell, there was a roar and a clang of metal from the room.
The samurai swept into the fray, keeping their opponents at a distance with their long blades. They had no orders to kill, just to threaten, to keep them out of the room, and, if possible, to strip them of their weapons.
Four men in hospital gowns for the sick (one as good as a woman's cheap nightgown to her knees) tried to do damage to the golems with a pair of swords, a dagger, and a homemade baton made from chair legs (the steel tubes were broken off and bundled together, one slightly pulled forward for convenience, like a bunch of very long grenades from some war movie). More precisely, there were three fighting, one armed with swords and a club, the third, with a dagger in his hands, was standing next to a woman. She was the one who had just finished off my golem. She leaned tiredly on her protector, who held her by the waist with his free hand, as she struck the lightning bolt.